Providence
by GrayArcadian
Summary: (Pre-Farpoint) While the Enterprise is undergoing last-minute checks, Lt. Yar is recruited to investigate the USS Providence, which has limped its way back to the Utopia Shipyards, along side the newly assigned 1st officer for the ship. What secrets does the Providence crew hide? And does their 1st officer truly belong with the Providence - or is he better suited elsewhere?
1. Chapter 1: Maybe More

**Story:** _Providence_

 **Summery:** While the Enterprise is undergoing extensive pre-launch recruiting and last-minute checks, Tasha Yar is recruited to investigate suspicious behavior aboard the deep-space explorer _USS Providence,_ which has limped its way back to the Utopia Shipyards, along side the newly assigned first officer for the ship. What secrets does the _Providence_ crew hide? And does their first officer truly belong with them, or are his talents best used elsewhere? (Works as a stand alone or as a part of the ongoing _Pars_ _Fortunae_ works I'm writing.)

 **Initial Upload:** 3/24/2017 **Time frame:** Pre-Farpoint **Rating:** K / G (The occasional "damn.")

 **Author Notes:** A thank you to all that read "Matters at Hand," which fueled enough of my desire to continue on with these works. This one is a nice little mystery story which shows the teamwork that eventually becomes D/T because having it drop from the sky during "The Naked Now," doesn't work for me. Both characters deserve better.

I am currently working on an ongoing series that is looking to patch the canon crazy and other crack that broke out in earnest after Roddenberry's death and make me less *ahem* offended by the concept of Sela. I sure as hell have my own list, but feel free to drop me a line with the things that drove you nuts from TOS, TNG, DS9, VOY, and even ENT and I'll see what I can write my way out of. I'm more into collaborative work anyway.

Please ask before reposting. I like to know where my stuff is and, even more than that, who's leaving comments.

Oooo! One last thing. I love music playlists and have a few ideas for all the characters. Suggestions welcome!

* * *

 _"Life is what happens to us while we are making other plans."_  
 _― Allen Saunders_

The PADD clattered to the table. _Save me from the boredom!_ Whatever functioned as Tasha's mental engine had just about hit a warp core breech. The headache pounded at the sides and front of her temples, and her stiff muscles felt as if they could double as durasteel cables.

She had been recruited to the _Enterprise_ as one of Captain Picard's first choices for his crew, and she was taking her new role as Security Chief very seriously. That meant sandwiching in a time between a handful of short-term assignments to vet each potential crew member, civilian, diplomat, and contractor attached to Starfleet's new flagship having its final preparations being added in. Picard had his list. Starfleet had theirs and she wanted to assure Jean-Luc that his trust in her was not – as she had already overheard a few times now – misplaced. Considering the brutal end of the last ship named _Enterprise_ twenty years ago she blamed no one at command for the extended caution.

Oh, Captain Picard had been nothing but reassuring while also demanding high standards, but, as she got up and cross the room, she caught a glimpse at herself in the window. Despite her gold uniform, perfectly shined boots, and the hint of mascara she wore, she could still see the edges of a Turkana street rat blinking with unbelief back at her. If anything, her attempts at a semi-androgynous appearance made the resemblance to what she had been to what she was now all that more striking. Her body betrayed her in puberty with graceful curves and (for a human) a slightly taller than average build, much of which was centered in thin legs and a long waist which were anchored by slimmer hips. These "gifts" of genetics had made her a target in the colony, so she unconsciously held her form like a drawn bowstring, ready to launch an arrow at the first approaching foe. She could never bring herself to have her hair any longer than the close crop she currently sported, and her above average height would now, with the loosest of clothing, only make her appear like a young man at a distance.

The fact that she was even thinking these things was what set her apart from those in the Federation. Everything from her walk to the tips of her fringe of bangs was designed as either a warning or a kind of stand-by camouflage she couldn't make herself undo.

She sighed. She was doing it again. As she rubbed her shoulders, Tasha started the mental litany of how older people, particularly older men, in positions of power could and often did have motives other than sexuality for keeping younger women in their employ. The Federation, she reminded herself, did not need her to downplay or upsell her sexual assets in order to be useful. They only requested her physicality in terms of restraining a threat to the ship or others or otherwise staying on top of her duties.

It was just...it wasn't like that on the colony. The powerful had access to soldiers, drugs, food, and sex. If one served them, one was expected to give any or all of them without hesitation to the warlord, gang leader, or whomever they, the powerful, favored. Even now, she irrationally wondered when the other shoe was going to drop regarding Picard, even when she knew full well they were both professionals, and that her crush was fueled by reasons that were frankly insulting to them both. For that and a million other reasons, there would never be a proverbial shoe _to_ drop.

Her hands fell on the sides of the small porthole window she'd been using as a mirror. As Tasha used the leverage to unlock her muscles, she thought of the fact she'd been off Turkana IV almost as long as she'd lived on it; twelve years to fifteen. She was hard-pressed to think of events in her life that could not be classified as either medical treatments, therapy, training, or her duty to Starfleet. Picard had asked her about it, and she admitted there had been so much to take in that doing anything else hadn't quite "taken."

" _So no personal attachments?" He asked._

 _She felt her crush flare up. Instead of looking at him, she reached down and put more sugar in her coffee. "No, sir. Not even an 'ex,' attachment. I'm completely at the_ Enterprise's _disposal."_

Consciously, she adjusted her breathing to take in more oxygen. "Tasha," she muttered herself. "I know this is the best you could have ever hoped for back then – but I... I think we can hope for more now."


	2. Chapter 2: Transfer

_Welcome to your life / There's no turning back_

 _\- Tears for Fears. "Everybody Wants to Rule the World."_

The _USS Providence_ didn't so much sail into the Utopia Planitia Fleet Yards as lurch like an unexpected and uninvited intoxicated wedding guest does to their assigned seat. The aged ship arrived with two of its four warp nacelles offline and one other sputtering like a candle in a rainstorm. A cursory glance by a trained eye would show a great deal of patchwork repairs, and – if one was capable of scanning it in the detail the young Lieutenant Commander was employing now – the observer would see that the ship had been repeatedly patched with less than idea methods and had delayed routine maintenance.

It was, Data thought to himself, something of a letdown.

For a full second, he tried to analyze the sensation to see if it could truly be cataloged as disappointment. It would be thrilling to be sincerely disappointed; to feel a pull downward in his systems indicating displeasure and the shattering of expectation. Instead, what his positronic mind came back with was the same logical analysis of the situation every other near encounter with emotion had been. Even then, the logical conclusion was less than optimal. Paradoxically, it was even more of a letdown.

Lieutenant Commander Data took a moment to review the transfer briefing. The _Providence_ was one of the aging Constellation-class vessels which were primarily used for support and explorations. This ship's mission had included interstellar transportation duties, primarily between Federation worlds bordering Orion territory as well as a host of friendly, but unaligned, colonies. It was not glamorous work, but, contrary to the stereotype, Starfleet officers did not seek out adventure and danger. Adventure and danger, however, tended to find Starfleet officers.

The crew of the _Providence_ were, by all accounts, a tightly knit grouping of 60 officers and crew, lead by Captain M'Sera. M'Sera's record and psychological profile suggested the Deltan was more mirthful than was standard for the species and gravitated easily into a career made up of steady, but somewhat unremarkable, service aboard smaller vessels. Much of his crew had been with him for more than a decade, which was unusual, but not unheard of in Starfleet. If a team worked well, Starfleet was loathe to take away or remove elements of its functionality unless there proved pressing reasons.

The reason he had been offered this assignment was one of those kind of pressing reasons. The first officer, Marianna Taylor, had been, unfortunately, killed in the line of duty during the same encounter that had sheared off two of the warp nacelles. Details were lacking at this time, but he already greatly regretted that a woman's death was the impetus for the new opportunities presented to him.

Despite the support of the captain and the solid working relationship he had had with the _Trieste's_ crew, he felt he had completed all the development which was possible aboard the vessel. Professionally, he'd earned several commendations for valor and, quite possibly, could have spent his time working his way through the ranks to one day captain the ship, but personally, the crew – while not rude or mean-spirited – still regarded him as an "other" and kept their collective distance.

This left several areas of his positronic matrix underdeveloped or blocked off from further access. Unlike humans who frequently did not understand how or why they were "mentally blocked," he knew such limitations were there. In the past, certain stimuli or developmental milestones had opened or altered previously closed off areas. He had hoped a transfer to the _Providence_ would all him a new set of experiences, and, perhaps aboard the close-quartered vessel, he would begin to develop long-term lasting friendships.


	3. Chapter 3: Investigation

_Distrust and caution are the parents of security._

 _\- Benjamin Franklin_

The Providence's docking was the talk of the shipyards the next day, and Lieutenant Yar was curious as anyone about what had happened to the ship. Still, she had a pile of her own work to do with Captain Picard guest lecturing at the Academy. The only problem was that it was dull.

She took another sip of coffee. The ship's counselor would be arriving within the next few days to take some of this off her hands. When her badge chittered, she thought it might have been her early arrival. "Yar here."

A disembodied male voice the Security Chief didn't recognize began to speak. "Lieutenant Yar. This is Admiral Aaron. I need to speak with you on a pressing matter."

Tasha was on immediate alert. "Aye, sir. I can meet you in the senior officer meeting room. The privacy systems are in are in place for that room."

"See you there in 10 minutes then, Lieutenant. Aaron out."

* * *

It wasn't fully stocked yet. Chairs still needed to be added, and the walls still showed the hard work of the engineers and programmers rounding out the last few details of the security workings the room contained. It suited Yar just fine. She preferred to stand or pace.

The Admiral strode into the room, barely glancing at her until he crossed the table and put down a PADD. "I don't have much time, so I'll get to the point. Three hours ago, the _Providence_ came to the station for its scheduled maintenance; only the ship had taken heavy damage and there was one casualty: the first officer, Lieutenant Commander Taylor. A new first officer has been assigned, but -" He eyed the PADD quickly before handing it over to her.

"But?"

"Officially, the case is closed, but Intelligence believes there more to this that meets the eye. The officer, though talented, is not an investigator. The nuances of organic behavior elude them."

Tasha frowned. "Organic, sir? That doesn't make sense. All life is organic."

Aaron shrugged. "Take it up with them and the Academy Entrance Committee."

She read the first line of the file. "Sir, I've heard of the case, but -" Tasha stopped. She was trying to find the right words and they floated like gnats just outside swiping range.

"But what, Lieutenant Yar?"

"With all due respect, Admiral, if even half of the capabilities that have been written up about the Commander check out, then I'm not sure what I could offer in addition."

"Let's start with a set of eyes I trust – a pair of critical eyes that can see when people are not who or what they say they are – and one that will report what they find to me?"

Tasha squared her shoulders. "I won't let you down, sir."

"The files for everything you need to know are encrypted on that tablet," he said, pointing at the device in her hands. "Logs, personnel files – included the Lieutenant Commander's – damage reports, and cargo notices. All there for your review."

Her eyes narrowed. "I assume you don't want me over there saying I'm investigating them?"

"Heavens no. You will be over there – officially – because you want to train the crew in emergency urban survival skills and to oversee the overhaul of their tactical systems for more run-and-gun maneuvers. Since you practically wrote guide for both during your Academy days, your lower rank shouldn't be an issue."

"I had excellent professors, sir."

A droll look shot her way. "This is not a time to be modest, Lieutenant. In fact, your cover story will work more effectively if you present yourself as the foremost expert. Is that understood?"

"Aye, sir."

"Good." He crossed the table and made for the door, but he paused before exiting. "One other thing: don't be thrown off by the android. He could possibly help, but I suspect he'll be more of a hindrance. He's apparently 'burningly curious.' Use that resource with discretion. Understood?"

There was only one reply to make to that. "Yes, understood, sir. Close but not too close."


	4. Chapter 4: New Protocols

_Growth is the only evidence of life -_

 _John Henry Newman_

* * *

Outside of these quarters, engineers and repair crews were everywhere. Frequently he saw ship's personnel whose official jobs had nothing to do with mechanical repairs – such a medical staff – pitching in on the work. The repair teams at Utopia were the finest in the galaxy, but apparently the crew of the _Providence_ was quite attached to their ship and had, during their long service, acquired a range of cross-training he had to admire.

The quarters/office of Captain M'Sera however was a stark contrast to the rest of the ship. In here, the only sound was the low level rhythmic harmony of a traditional Deltan water clock mixing with the general ambiance of an engine and electrical system adapted for deep space. The furnishings were comfortable and obviously acquired through many years of travels more than replicated stock.

While he did not understand the maxim about a captain's office being a reflection of the captain, Data had to admit this was much different than the technical readouts that lined the walls of his counterpart on the _Trieste's_ or the _Tripoli's_ office which was filled with family portraits that intrigued him to no end. What he could garner is, like many others of his species, M'Sera had a heightened sense of aesthetics and offered his space like one would open a gallery to art.

"I welcome you, Mr. Data," he nodded lightly to a white, cushioned chair while he stood at his desk. When Data continued to stand, he added, "Please have a seat."

"Ah." After he came to understand the captain's meaning, he crossed the room and obliged him by lowering himself into a sitting position. "While your concern for my fatigue is admirable," he noted, "I could have stood indefinitely."

The older man tilted his head. "That would make me a less than ideal host. The furnishings -" He waved a hand once to encompass the room, "are here not just for my pleasure, but for the pleasure of my visitors, including those on official business."

"Intriguing perspective, Captain, and one I hope to learn more about."

M'Sera smiled a half-lidded smile as he left his desk and came over to his junior officer. "You will have the time. May I ask you why you chose this assignment, Commander?"

Data frowned slightly. "Starfleet's needs come before any of my own considerations, sir."

"Before, or balanced with?"

The frown increased. "While I am intrigued by the idea of joining a close-knit crew, I do not, as such, have many considerations of my own other than to grow personally and professionally."

M'Sera cocked his head. "Yet you chose to leave the _Trieste._ Why is that?"

"I felt that my growth in multiple areas was -" He searched for the right word before settling on, "stalled."

"In what way?" the Captain probed.

"The crew was polite and the work was engaging, but that was the limit of of my interactions aboard the ship. Captain Sen's command style was one that fostered order and logic."

M'Sera chuckled. "And you don't value order and logic?"

Data frowned slightly. "It is more that I understand order and logic and appreciate its consequential value. What interests me – what I continue to seek out - is what I do not understand."

M'Sera chuckle now rumbled its way into a full chortle. "This would be the famed quest for humanity?"

"Yes. Though professionally, interacting with a host of species and cultures as the _Providence's_ mission requires appeals to me as well. Aboard the _Trieste_ , my work mostly focused on astrophysics. As you no doubt know, I have dual doctorates and believe my work in exobiology would prove more useful."

"Likely," the Deltan agreed as his fingers idly rubbed the fabric of the chair's arm under his hand. "Mari - Commander Taylor – was a master linguist, but, like you, she was a scientist at heart. I'm afraid in a way we bored her to death."

"Sir?"

"We were in the middle of an experiment in temporal mechanics when we were attacked by the Orion Raiders, Commander. It is in the report."

"Yes, but - 'bored to death?' Commander Taylor died during the evacuation of the sensor arrays."

M'Sera's face darkened. "And she would not have been there, had we declined the assignment. Marianna insisted we take the risk – and then stayed too long in a vain attempt to save the data." He shook his head. "I'm afraid she finally had a grand experiment and the dream of it was something she couldn't let go of, even as death closed in." He sighed and his eyes wandered to the water clock. "Forgive me, Commander Data. I will recover from the loss with time."

While Data cycled through various potential replies to M'Sera's obvious grief, a pale green bearded man opened the door behind the Captain's chair, pausing his thoughts.

"Commander Data, this is Engineer Nikkav Taylor." The Deltan introduced the being without looking back at him. Data's exobiology degree filled in the missing information. While humans and Vulcans tended to be sight-oriented, Deltans employed a myrid of senses, including pheromones, to identify other beings. The captain hadn't needed the turn around to introduce the newcomer. Orion pheromones tended to be legendary in strength.

"You're the machine man come to replace Mari?" he asked gruffly.

Data could see the Deltan wince at the rudeness. "Nik, it's not like that on multiple counts, and you are aware of this."

When the engineer shrugged, Data registered another letdown. Things had been going so well with the captain, and now the prejudice that organic beings held for his mechanical nature was, as the saying went, back in force. "Well, this afternoon, you get to show off a little," he said to Data. "Starfleet sent us some hotshot to inspect and update our security protocols and oversee some equipment upgrades. There's also a survival drill for select staff at 1500 on the holodeck."

M'Sera clucked his tongue in what was obviously an ongoing annoyance with Taylor's tendencies towards insubordination. "I'm sure whatever wizened elder Admiral Aaron sent us they sent will offer their wisdom and will ultimately make our ship safer and more efficient."

Taylor's smile dripped dark humor off his slightly pointed teeth. "Nope. This one isn't some admiral. It's worse." He glanced back to Data. "Protocol isn't our thing around here," he belatedly explained. "Too much to do and in too damn little time with very little in the way of explanations. We're given a job around here and we do it however is most efficient."

Data wanted to argue the point, but he was much more interested on gleaning clues how this new ship's personnel functioned. There was also a concern that the Chief Engineer already seemed to be acting in the manner a First Officer would which left him confused on how to proceed without further analysis – and an analysis required data.

"I will endeavor to adapt to the ship's norms, but, if I may ask, why is outside help unwelcome, and can you define 'worse?'"

"Admiral Aaron just sent us the handpicked Chief of Security from that wonderful ship out there." Outside the window, the new Federation flag ship appeared complete, but Data knew that the interior was still undergoing "last minute touches" to assure a more adaptable and secure ship. "She's some kind of wunderkind."

The Deltan raised an eyebrow. "I assume Anderson was informed."

"And taking it better than expected, though he doesn't want to spare the manpower. The pair of us are busy fixing things. This gives the rest of security something to do which keeps them from being underfoot. Still, if we're going to be off on time, I need his help in Engineering."

"I am extensively trained in ships engines," Data replied. "I would be happy to relieve Lieutenant Anderson of his need to work in that area while he sees to the efficiency of his team."

M'Sera shook his head. "Mari, Nik, and Bjorn did extensive modifications to the engines over the years as one crisis or another happened," he explained. "Some of the modifications list was lost with Mari's other data. I believe you would be of more use to the ship if you were to help oversee the operations and security upgrades, Commander."

Puzzled, Data tilted his head. "I'm afraid I'm not as familiar with Security protocols as a trained officer would be."

The Deltan smiled and patted his hand. "Think of it as an area of growth."

Taylor folded his arms. "'Sides, if this Yar person is half as good as Aaron chats her up to be, you'll be an expert by lunchtime tomorrow!"


	5. Chapter 5: A One-Droid Assignment

_"Words are easy, like the wind; Faithful friends are hard to find."_

 _\- William Shakespeare, (The Passionate Pilgrim)_

Bjorn Anderson had proved to be a pain in the neck. For a start, her list of requested personnel had been whittled down. Upon meeting her in the Transporter Room, Anderson had handed her a crew dossier with one name on it, telling her the first officer would gladly take the training and then repeat any and all of what she said or did once the ship was once more underway. He claimed his security staff were currently doubling as repair crew because of the modifications he and the Chief Engineer had performed on the ship. For some bizarre reason, the captain of the ship was going along with this insanity even though the mechanics and engineers here were the best anywhere in the Federation and could surely figure it out. It made no sense!

"How is it having one person aboard this ship trained in these tactics supposed to help keep your crew alive?" she had asked.

"The studies say it remembers everything perfectly down to the nanosecond. Train him, he trains us, and we're good to go."

"I have to appeal to the captain regarding this."

"Feel free," the large human huffed and mocked her tone. "If you can get a hold of him in all this." Anderson's hand flew around the room. "You can talk to command about it, too. Bottom line is that we have one warp nacelle barely on and three are gone or need replacing. Those Orion bastards caught us in the middle of a science project with our pants down. The Frigga Mine Collective needs the supplies and the arbiter they requested in 5 days or things out on that way get very tense in a way Starfleet isn't going to like. Much as I appreciate what you have to offer my people I can't have them drop what their doing for what amounts to an extra academy course. The droid is the most effective way to get all this managed."

Appealing to Anderson wasn't getting her anywhere. Sadly, he also had a point; the Collective were not Federation members, but they were a friendly group which supplied dilithum and certain other compounds that defied the ability to be replicated effectively. The strike in the mines had the whole sector on edge. While the situation had remained tense, but calm, there was a threat of violence and anarchy looming over the stand-off. She tried one more thing:

"If that strike goes badly, this training could save your team's life."

The reply was exactly what she expected. "And if we get the ship going and the arbiter does as she's trained for, then...Well, the best battles are those you don't have to fight."

Tasha wasn't going to take this lying down. "Computer, when does Captain M'Sera have an available time slot for a 15 minute briefing?"

The familiar, feminine voice chirped back, "Captain M'Sera is available at 1700 hours tomorrow."

"Schedule that appointment, and send a reminder to Commander Data to meet me for the first training scheduled for 1500."

"Acknowledged."

Tasha turned back to Anderson. "Since I'll be here awhile, where are you having me stay?"

"That's gonna be a problem," Anderson admitted. "All but ten bunks are under remodel or are irradiated to hell and back. We're already two or three to a room. Might as well stay planetside."

Tasha shrugged. "Believe me, I've slept in worse spots. Just tell me what closet I can put my bag in."

Anderson was still less than amused. "There's one place we're not tripled up on yet. Hope you like mold and machines, lady."


	6. Chapter 6: The Lab that's not a Lab

_It only takes a moment / For your eyes to meet and then / Your heart knows in a moment /_

 _You will never be alone again - "It Only Takes a Moment" from Hello, Dolly! (and the Wall-E soundtrack)_

The first thing that hit her as she opened the door was a familiar smell. In a split second, she was back on Turkana IV navigating the waste shafts of one of the medical processing centers. The smell of rancid, tainted water coating her body until she found the cultivation area. The cyan moss could be converted into everything from memory and reflex enhancers to hallucinogens. It never felt safe to be in here. The headaches and tremors would last the rest of the day. The alternative to losing this cache was joining a gang or offering herself and Ishara for trade and then hoping whoever had them would honor the deal.

Quickly, she shut the door and slammed her back against the wall. A glance down the corridor allayed her of the fear of discovery, both because the flashback had been so sudden and because fear of a fungus was the last image she wanted to project. Briefly, she closed her eyes, reminded herself where she was, and found herself falling into the breathing routines she learned from the healers of Vulcan.

 _Nothing else from there took,_ she thought with some needed amusement.

"Computer, identify the moss samples in the lab space."

"The lab contains 31 colonies of _Indisi humesccantha_."

 _Good_ , she thought, _n_ _on-toxic and non-medicinal. Just similar enough, I guess._

"Can you contain the colonies and lower the spores parts per million in the room so that I will not be able to smell it?"

The computer chirped once. "Affirmative. Initiating."

When she next entered the room, the ventilation was working overtime. From the sounds of the groaning machinery, the system had been repeatedly put on low priority, but it was functioning for the moment.

"What is it with this ship?" Tasha muttered to herself. "Time to find out."

A quick scan of the room showed her that the display screen was opposite the door. There was a desk tucked into a minuscule alcove. Lining the walls were the offending fungus, now encased in their specimen containers. When the air flow switched back from "hurricane" to "almost normal," she could hear what was meant by machines. The noise filtering here was less than ideal. Much less. The sounded of the engines on standby and the engineering staff mulling around in behind the paneling to the right was so obvious she felt like she should add her perspectives to their conversations. She deduced her replicator had to share a system with the one in engineering, because every minute or so, someone would ask for a tool, device, or coffee and the panel on the replicator in the room would flicker just a bit and then reset. Also, while there was a closet off to the left, there were already five golden Starfleet uniforms hanging in the space along with two pairs of boots and three different grades of quarantine suits.

Tasha shrugged her duffle bag off her shoulder, blew an errant bang out of her face, and, out of habit, searched the crevices for listening devices. _Time to see the files._

She rolled out a yoga mat. "Computer, read me the service record of Commander Marianna Taylor."

The screen obliged her with the image of a classically beautiful brunette wearing her hair back with a pair of combs and began to read her while she fit in her workout. Commander Taylor had been a rare breed. She had been an up and coming astrophysicist when she had a change of heart in her mid-thirties and began taking a command path. As a commander she served adequately as Security Chief before being promoted to First Officer where her talents appeared, by all accounts, to be better suited. She had married Nikkav, a foundling Orion who claimed his wife's name as a surname. By all accounts, they were an odd couple, but private. Personal logs indicated that, even on this close-knit ship, many were surprised to find out they were even engaged in some kind of courtship until the wedding announcement was posted.

The other service records were unremarkable. These were good, solid officers, well-equipped for their roles here but they all seemed to lack ambition. There was a note or two about how insular guest found the crew, but Commander Taylor had been the designated ship's peacemaker and Captain M'Sera, though somewhat distant, tended to forgive easily and smooth over any rough edges.

Well, maybe. There was one file she was saving for last. Tasha stopped her routine, shuffled her feet, and opened the file.

It was as if no one commenting on the android was able to do so without terminology from the Daystrom Institute's advanced computing guides. She found herself blinking at the files more than once in incomprehension while feeling the familiar anxiety of being in a new situation and not having the background to comprehend it.

"All of this is about the machine," she muttered scanning the displayed outlines of what passed as his nervous system. "But who are you?"

It was as if the universe had heard her. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the subfile for _Visual Recordings._ Tasha pressed play.

She was treated to a host of short videos showcasing a man of average build and height, but that was the only average thing she witnessed. The first videos featured him obligingly bending impossibly strong bars, running tirelessly on a treadmill for hours on end, and various other feats of endurance and strength. As awed as she was by these displays, the luster began to fade from them quickly. It wasn't that she was less impressed with his abilities. It was that she was getting less impressed by his audience.

In each of the films, his gold eyes darted about the room with curiosity and a kind of _openess_ she had never seen on anyone. Each time, the scientists noted how pleased they were and then...they just _left_ him like a bank of computers that would be put into rest mode if no one interacted with them for a set time. But Data never slept. He'd either sit there reading, or listening to music, or tinkering with anything from a prototype tricorder (which he improved the range of) to trying to play chess against himself. It was so lonely, but he never seemed to lose his cheer – until the last recording.

* * *

"Good morning, Dr. Kvay," Data greeted the person studying him with a keen interest while fiddling with a toy.

"Good morning, Data," the Andorian replied with detached, but polite interest. "I have some good news. You have been determined to be a sentient being with the capacity for making choices at level appropriate for mature lifeforms. You are free to leave the Institute."

His long gold fingers wound themselves around the toy's string. With some effort, he found he could turn the small, wooden shape at the bottom into a kind of swing. As he did so, a pair of thin lips, slightly darker than his skin, curved upward. The doctor's white eyebrow went up slightly.

"Data, are you smiling at the yo-yo or this announcement?"

The subject cocked his head. "While I appreciate we have come to an accord, my sentience was never in doubt to myself."

Tasha found herself stifling a chuckle.

"So it's the yo-yo." The doctor lowered his head to make a note.

"No, though I find the device fascinating. While its key components are string and a wooden apparatus there are numerous applications for physics-oriented challenges, or would be for an organic lifeform."

"Then what has pleased you?"

Data began to wind up the yo-yo string around the center dowel. "Dr. Roberts and Dr. Santiago announced they were to be married in a week and the staff quantifying my abilities were collectively invited. Since I am part of study, it stands to reason I qualify as staff. I believe it would be most gratifying an educational to witness this human mating ritual. While I lack the ability to bring a physical gift I have been practicing singing and believe I can offer -"

The Andorian pinched his nose and interrupted the android's spoken train of thought. "Data! Stop for a moment. You are making a conjecture!"

The android froze in his actions. "Please offer details of my transgression." The tone had the kind of weariness that comes from repeated use.

"You have not been staff. You have been the subject. We have explained this. As such, we are not your friends! We are, at best, colleagues."

"Ah, a simple error. I shall just ask Dr. Roberts if she and her fiance` would accept me as a guest when her duty shift starts in 12 hours, 37 minutes, 34 sec -"

Data was cut off again. "Sadly, no. You are being transferred to Earth for further rehabilitation and socialization training for three months. After this, if your progress continues to be as projected, you will be granted full independence."

"When am I to leave?"

"In six hours a shuttle will be here to take you to Earth."

Data nodded once. "Then may I make a final request?"

"Of course."

"I would request that the files you have collected regarding my abilities and sentience be accessible by Starfleet. It is still my hope to one day join and serve the greater good."

"They will certainly find someone with your abilities an asset." Dr. Kvay rose to his feet. "Now I have work I must return to. Good-bye, Data."

Without truly waiting for a reply, the Andorian moved swiftly towards the door – but the recording remained on.

And Data began to sing.

 _It only takes a moment / For your eyes to meet and then…_

* * *

Tasha hadn't realized her feet had carried her over close enough to the screen. Her fingers now glided over the image, unsure what she was feeling other than she had her answer regarding who this "machine" was. The screen went black, but the song continued.

 _Your heart knows in a moment / You will never be alone again…_

With a puzzled frown she lightly smacked the screen. "You can turn off the sound, Computer. Show's over."

"While it is correct that the recording is at an end, I believe the situation may have become more interesting."

Tasha whirled around to find that the singer was indeed no longer on screen, but standing 2 meters in front of her with a look of intense wonder.


	7. Chapter 7: The Woman in His Quarters

_Charm is a product of the unexpected. -_ _Jose Marti_

* * *

There was a woman in his quarters, and she was watching him on a viewscreen.

Data had over 400 different guides on manners and protocol in his memory banks. Nothing in them covered this situation unless Captain M'Sera had sent her as a concubine, but that Deltan tradition was considered so archaic as to be rude.

He took in the clues around her. The stranger was in uniform and roughly his chronological age. He could not see the markings on her collar, so she could have been either a subordinate or a superior. The mat on the floor and duffle bag off to the side indicated she expected to stay for some time and preferred physical activities in her downtime. The spore count he detected in the room indicated she likely found the odor objectionable. The only chemical traces he could detect off of her were very faintly were the remnants of soap and shampoo scented lightly with rosemary oil. Most humanoid women still tended to opt for longer hairstyles. This one sported a fringe of blonde on top of her head, closely shaved on the sides.

Perhaps the most intriguing thing was that she was watching the screen with intense interest to the exclusion of all else. It was as if her hand wished to reach into the scene, but he couldn't fathom why. Perhaps it was the song? Humans often became very thoughtful around artistic displays. He also had never had an audience for a musical performance, so this also offered him the added benefit of receiving feedback.

He synced his voice up to the recording easily enough. _It only takes a moment / For your eyes to meet and then / Your heart knows in a moment / You will never be alone again…_

Her voice presented a contrast to her sharp appearance. He would almost describe it as "musical." "You can turn off the sound, Computer. Show's over."

"While it is correct that the recording is at an end, I believe the situation may have become more interesting," he commented.

He had expected surprise. What he had not anticipated was the water canteen flying towards his face. He caught it easily enough. "Impressive. Were I human, the force of this bottle combined with its trajectory would have likely caused enough damage to my nasal cavities as to render me stunned for multiple seconds."

The woman's eyes, which he now noted were an impressively clear shade of blue, widened in response, but that was her only reply for the moment. Data handed back the container.

"Lieutenant, may I ask what brings you to my quarters?"

She took a breath in and found her voice again. "Commander Anderson told me the biology lab was - Wait! Your _quarters?!_ "

"Yes."

Her eyes narrowed, and Data noted with great enthusiasm that this strange Lieutenant had the clearest body language expression he had ever seen a human exhibit. He had learned much about non-verbal communication in the years since his activation, but he was hardly at as level he would consider "mastery." With her, he could tell her emotional state had gone from deep thought to primal fear to shock to mild irritation to near rage in 2 minutes and 12 seconds – and all of it clearly displayed! To Data, it was as dazzling as a newly formed star. He hoped she would see fit to stay.

"Is there a problem?" Maybe he shouldn't have asked, but he had the feeling the response would be illuminating.

"Yes!" she replied emphatically. "I know he said they were short on cabins, but these aren't quarters, Data! They're a moss factory!"

"As you must have read in my file, I do not require sleep, or rest."

She pointed to the wall. "How about at a least window?"

It hadn't occurred to him to find the space objectionable. "Are you unhappy with the accommodations you have been offered? I'm sure Commander Anderson -"

The woman cut him off. "It's not _about_ me! I can rest anywhere!"

Data was now thoroughly confused. More importantly though: "You have me at a disadvantage. You know my name, but I have failed to learn yours."

The blonde fringe of her hair shook back from her face as she stood at near-attention. "Lieutenant Yar."

He briefly scanned his memory of the _Providence's_ personnel and discovered an interesting fact. "You do not appear to be assigned to the vessel, Lieutenant. How is it that you have been assigned to share quarters with me?"

She stuck out her lip a millimeter and blew her bangs upward. "I'm here to help oversee the security upgrades and to train the crew on urban survival techniques, but for right now you are my only student!"

"Ah. You are the wunderkind."

Once again, he was treated to another obvious and abrupt change of mood. "What's a 'wunderkind?'"

"I was uncertain. I was hoping you would define the word for me."

She bit her lip and then admitted. "I'm..not always the best person to ask when it comes to slang."

"Nor am I," he replied. "Perhaps we should look it up?"

Yar sighed. "Maybe later."

After shuffling through 54 potential responses, Data settled on something professional. "Since the training exercise begins in two hours, perhaps you can educate me on your field of expertise until it is time for the experiential learning?"

Tasha appeared relieved as she rolled her shoulders once and started with - "First, let's start with a look the _Providence's_ forward phaser array..."

Author note: I have discovered that correspondance has been a boon in overcoming writer's block. Thank you to all who have written in already. To anyone else on the fence about contacting/bothering me, please do so. You're likely to get more of the story faster that way. If that's just not your thing, favorites, reviews, and follows also remind me that People Expect This and I am Allow to Skip the Dishes for a Night. Your support is gratifying.


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